Henry is dead…

The day did not start well.  There are lots of reasons for this, the most frustrating of which was an argument with the hoover.

Actually that is not the most frustrating thing that happened, it is more that I took out my frustrations on the hoover.   I do not feel in any way sorry for Henry, who if I’m honest I have had a love/hate relationship with, since I bought him a few years ago.

Henry and I do not like each other.

I am not keen on housework as you all know, so my first bug bear is having to lug Henry around the house in the first place but add to that the sheer bulk of Henry and his ability to get stuck, tangled and wedged in all manner of things just makes me want to hurl him out the window.

He is heavy and he doesn’t move well, despite his wheels.

Yesterday, I was contemplating how on earth I was going to fit everything in today as I was originally supposed to be having two dates today.   Along with making the house look half-decent, collecting the children from school and making dinner, somewhere in between.

I needn’t have worried.  Why do I?  I should surely know by now that these things never go to plan.  It seems you can not rely on men anymore, ever.   Bitter?  Yes, I’m bloody getting there!

In my already fairly despondent mood, I decided I might as well make use of the day and crack on with some, admittedly, long overdue jobs.  So I cleaned out the upstairs cupboards and the airing cupboard and put fresh linen on all the beds and after a good tidy up and a move around everything just needed a good hoover.

By the time I had finished lugging Henry around the upstairs my rage had only increased.  I don’t know what it is about him but I swear he tips me over the edge.  As I navigated the landing and tried to move him on to the stairs we got tangled up, he was refusing to move and the hose was all twisted up the wrong way and in my sheer frustration I booted him.  I know, it is irrational but I couldn’t help it.

We were both tipped off-balance and I’m sorry to say that in the choice between which one of us was going to end up in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs, I chose Henry.

He fell unceremoniously from top to bottom and landed in a plume of dust by the back door.  The plug was whipped from the wall and as the cable sailed by it smacked my ankle, I swore loudly at this last ditched attempt by Henry to have the last bloody word.

RIP you cumbersome old bastard.

Until today the week had been pretty uneventful.

 

I shouldn’t moan as quiet times are few and far between in my house. There is always some drama or another going on and if it isn’t here, it will be at work or with a friend or something, anything but life is never quiet.

Even Tom and Elsie are behaving.  Well when I say behaving I mean they are being good that does not mean they are not irritating me.  Tom especially.

I have a question.  Answers on a postcard please.

When will my son get his brain?

Anyone?  If you are a mother with a son who is older than 13 could you please let me know when this is likely to happen?  He just doesn’t remember a single thing, not one, ever.  This means that I am constantly moaning at him, well I call it reminding, he calls it moaning but in all fairness if he could just remember the things that I keep reminding/moaning at him about, then I wouldn’t have to keep reminding/moaning at him.  Simple?  You’d like to think.

In more good news, a friend of mine found a speed dating event locally.  It is being held in a pub we know in town.  She immediately thought we should go and give it a try.

I, ever the sceptic, wasn’t sure at first, probably assuming that speed dating is all a bit ‘old hat’ now.  I didn’t even realise they still ran events like these but I suppose in reality there is more need now than ever.

She sent me the details and we both thought.. Why not?  It might be a laugh, if nothing else.  Something to blog about after the event.  The more I thought about it, the more the idea appealed.

I am a talker and so is she, so we wouldn’t have any trouble making chit-chat with random men.  It is nice to see people in person, attraction is a key part, as let’s face it half the battle with online dating is the endless messaging, then you meet and you don’t fancy each other.  Plus there is no pressure, you sit, you chat for the allotted time and you move on.

We decided to find out more about it.

My optimism about the impending speed dating was very short-lived as today she informed me we are too old!  My day is just getting better by the minute.

Well that knocked the wind out of my sails.  Too fucking old! Says Who, exactly?

I am NOT old.  I refuse to be old.  I do not want to be old.  Nor do I wish anyone else to inform me that I should now be put out to pasture.  NO. Just NO.

The age bracket for this particular event is 30-45.   This means that in January I could have gone to the speed dating event and yes, maybe I would have been at the older end of the scale but I would have been in the running.  Now though, in March and since I have had a birthday I am no longer in the correct age bracket.

Tickets for the event are twenty pounds, which I have to say seems a lot.  It seems a lot when you think you could go to the pub anyway probably and just loiter in the background waiting to pounce on any rejects.   What do you get for twenty pounds?  A score card and pencil and the chance to meet a few (turn out dependant) hapless individuals who can’t seem to find a life partner.  Are there nibbles?

So, it seems we won’t be going speed dating after all.  Well unless we do decide to gate crash, which at the moment I am all for.

Clearly if we want to go speed dating we will have to find an old people’s version.  Or try Bingo?

I have before been an avid Bingo goer, introduced to it by my Nan, she loved her Bingo.  I used to take her on a Friday night, way back when I was in my early twenties.  My Nan was a skinny stick of a woman who smoked like a trooper and swore like a navvy.  We were peas in a pod.  I loved her like no other.

In those days I drove an old Mini City, bright yellow it was, with black go faster stripes.  It was a wreck of a car and not the comfiest ride you would have taken in your life.  I have always been somewhat of a reckless driver and my poor old Nan barely made it to the end of some journeys in that old Mini.

It makes me smile just thinking of those Friday night Bingo trips.  I can hear her now:

“Fucking hell, I can’t take another journey in that bloody car girl, it makes my fucking bones rattle, it’s going to be the death of me”

As it was the cancer got her in the end.  Probably all those bloody fags!  At only 67 she was no more.  I can honestly say that nothing has devastated me quite as much since, nor will it ever I don’t think.

My first real experience of losing someone I truly loved.  It was heart wrenching.

Anyway, while we are talking death, I suppose I had better go and cremate Henry.

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